Hawk's Nest
by Ariyah
Summary: It's been two months since the Battle of Manhattan, and the residual effects are still plaguing Clint. Even though he suffers alone, healing is a process they can work through together. Barton family fluff, post-Avengers. By Ariel of Narnia.


**Disclaimer:** The only thing I'm sure I own is the dog.

 **Thanks to:** Kristi for giving this the critical once-over it needed.

 **Especial thanks to:** my dad for assuring me that the story, characters, and progression of certain events work. And, you know, for being my dad. Because Father's Day and I love him. :-)

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"Dad?"

Clint looked up from his cereal bowl at Cooper – at least, he hoped it was Cooper he was looking at. He was seeing double, he was so tired. "Hmm?"

"Are you okay?"

Clint tried to blink his eyes into submission, but they felt dry and scratchy. Tears welled up to try to solve the issue.

"What's the matter, Daddy?" Lila asked. "Why are you crying?"

"Nothing's the matter," Clint assured her. "I just didn't sleep much last night." He rubbed his eyes until there was only one Lila to smile at.

"Me and Cooper can do your chores so you can go back to bed," she offered.

He could feel his wife watching him carefully from the other side of the table. He already had his kids concerned; he didn't need to trouble his wife any further. "Nah, I'm alright, but thanks."

"Finish your breakfast, Lila," Laura said, cutting off any further comment.

Both kids returned to their food, but Laura was still studying him from behind her teacup. Clint stood up, filled a travel mug with steaming coffee, and planted a kiss on Laura's head. "Nothing a bit of work on Old Bessie won't fix."

Laura's arm snaked up to pull him down for a peck on the cheek. "Don't work too hard." She was smiling and that meant Clint had convinced her too.

The moment he set foot on the porch, Clint was greeted with a bark and a lick on his fingers from a tail-wagging Macie. Clint murmured a greeting and ruffled the top of her head, but offered her no more attention: the sooner he was away from the house, the better. Though the Australian sheepdog followed him first to the chicken coop, then to the goat pen, she seemed to understand that Clint wasn't interested in company, and so she kept at a respectful distance. Once the animals were fed, Clint retreated into the barn. Macie stayed outside, inspecting some new scent.

In the solitude of the barn, Clint stared down the tractor until the dryness returned to his eyes. Groaning, he pinched them shut to moisten them again, but while his eyes found relief, his mind's eye replayed the images that had filled last night's dreams. Darkness, destruction, death, and always – always, _always_ – that pale, leering face.

A wave of dizzying exhaustion forced him to open his eyes and grab hold of something. The tractor just sat there, waiting for him patiently, however unsympathetically.

"Nothing a bit of work on Old Bessie won't fix," he mumbled to himself as he set his coffee on his worktable. He circled the tractor a few times before deciding that he might as well start on the engine.

The activity provided the distraction he was hoping for. The grease that swiftly coated his hands, the bits and pieces of engine he eventually pulled apart, and especially the puzzling over the possible reasons the tractor didn't run properly: all of it kept him grounded in the present, far away from the clutches of two months ago, of that wicked smile that still haunted him….

Clint leaned his arm against Old Bessie, then, in turn, his head upon his arm. _You're not supposed to still be here. I should have flushed you out by now. It's over. We won, you're gone, I'm home. So why aren't you gone from my head, you blasted Cheshire cat? Get out, get out,_ get out _!_ He rammed his fist against the tractor's exterior for emphasis.

A startled squeak interrupted his tirade. Lila and Cooper stood in the doorway, watching him with round eyes. Clint knew he was staring back at them, but though he tried to think of something – _anything_ – to say, nothing came to mind.

"Old Bessie still not working?" Cooper ventured at length.

Clint blinked, then shook his head. "Not yet, buddy." He rapped his knuckles on the tractor's hood and assumed a normal tone. "I haven't figured her out yet. But I will." He knelt and returned to poking at the remaining engine parts within the bowels of Old Bessie, just as his mind returned to addressing his absent tormentor. _First, you took my mind and used me. Then you somehow still haunt me. Now my wife and kids are suffering the effects too. I'm free and yet you persist. Why can't you just leave us alone?_

 _Speaking of us…._ He looked up and frowned. Cooper was comparing wrenches at the worktable. Lila was nowhere to be seen –

"Hey!" he exclaimed, jerking his hands away from the tractor and pinning his right arm to his side.

Lila chortled from behind him, "I got you, I got you!" No sooner had she said that, than she began to grunt and tug. Clint looked over his shoulder to watch his daughter try in vain to free her fingers from his armpit. "Let go!" she demanded through her giggles.

Clint smirked and let her struggle for a few seconds more. "Only if you promise not to tickle Daddy while he's working, okay?"

Lila was still giggling, but she nodded. Clint released his grip, and she immediately reached for him again with every intention of repeating her success. He swivelled around, blocking off both armpits and raising his greasy hands to stay her advance. "Lila, I mean it. Daddy might get hurt if you tickle me while my hands are in there."

Lila's eyes grew wide and she nodded. She even took a couple steps back.

Addressing both kids, Clint asked, "Did Mom go somewhere?"

Cooper cringed as his neat stack of wrenches toppled with a frightful clatter. "Yeah. She went shopping, but me and Lila wanted to stay with you."

Clint smiled outwardly, but he really wished they'd gone with Laura. "How about you two play outside, just where I can see you?"

Lila pouted. "But I wanna stay here with you, Daddy!"

"But look! It's a nice day out and Macie's out there chasing her tail all by herself." Clint inclined his head toward the dog. "Why don't you help her out, give her some company?"

Lila still pouted at him, but he could see her softening.

 _Please, Lila?_ he begged her silently, making every effort to hide even a trace of his desire to be alone.

The silence from the workbench broke with the soft rustle of denim and Cooper's voice saying, "Come on, Lila."

Lila looked from Clint's face, to Macie's frolicking, to Cooper's silhouette in the doorway. A smile broke across her face and she skipped outside with Cooper to play with a clearly delighted Macie. Clint stifled his sigh of relief, but watching the three play did bring on a genuine smile.

"Alright, Bessie," he muttered to the tractor. "Back to business." Soon enough, he found himself stepping over strewn parts, fiddling with replacements at the worktable, constantly losing track of his rag, and finally forgetting why he'd thrown himself into this task. By the time he had noticed any significant passage of time, the sun was high in the sky, Macie was lying quietly in the shade, and the kids had moved on to something else. Clint began to work a fresh rag over his hands as he leaned in the doorway to observe.

Lila had just pulled her last arrow from the ten-yard hay bale and rejoined Cooper behind the safety line. He waited till he was sure she stood beside him before he drew his bow. He must have sized up the target beforehand, for he released almost immediately, striking the bale not quite in the center, but close. The next five arrows produced similar results.

"That's a great grouping, Coop!" Clint called out.

"Thanks, Dad!"

While Cooper retrieved his arrows, Lila ran up to Clint. "What about me? Did you see mine?"

Clint leaned down, resting his hands on his knees. "Why don't you show me?"

Lila grabbed his wrist and tugged him into the sunlight. Just as Cooper had done for her, she waited until he had crossed the safety line before she even touched an arrow. They even nodded to acknowledge each other. Lila raised her compound bow skyward to pull back the string, then levelled it toward the target. _She's not fighting the draw weight as much as she used to_ , Clint noted. Her arm had just begun to tremble before she pulled the trigger of her release. The arrow shot forth and sunk itself an inch or two from the hay bale's center.

"Whoa, good one!" Clint exclaimed. Lila beamed up at him and lined up her next shot. Her arrows were more scattered than Cooper's, but Clint did find something else to praise. "You're not hitting high anymore; good job!"

"Coop said I was using the wrong dot." She pointed to one of the pins of her bow's sight. "Now I use the green one, but I still can't get a bull's-eye."

"This is a really good start, though. Thanks for helping her out, Coop – oh. Where'd he go?"

Lila shrugged but couldn't hide more than half a grin before she scurried off to retrieve her arrows. _They're up to something, aren't they? Well, let them have their fun. I'll find out soon enough._ The moment of revelation would come sooner rather than later, it seemed, considering that Lila either wouldn't or couldn't suppress that huge smile of hers any longer.

Footfalls in the grass behind him alerted Clint to Cooper's return. "Here, Dad; your turn." In his hands, he grasped a bow too large for him, and he leaned over to one side at an amusing angle to keep the long strap of a quiver from slipping off his shoulder. It was an endearing sight, one that Clint was sure he'd remember long after Cooper grew into the gear.

"Oh, you don't want to see your old man shoot."

"Yeah, we do!" Cooper retorted.

Lila was at his side again. "You're not old!" she said, sounding very much offended.

Clint feigned a long-suffering sigh before he tugged off his over-shirt and let it fall to the grass. "Fine, I'll do it."

Lila cheered and Cooper unfurled one set of fingers from Clint's bow to punctuate his "Yes!" with a fist-pump. _Man_ , he loved seeing his kids happy. He didn't see it as often as he should, going off on missions and all that, but moments like these made all of _that_ worth it. _This_ was what he fought for every time he left home. _This_ what he looked forward to whenever he was in the field.

"What do you want to see me do?" He removed the armguard from its place on the quiver, and strapped it to his right arm.

"Can you shoot with your feet? Like that girl in the video you showed us?" Lila asked.

"Maybe I could have when I was younger, but I definitely can't now."

"Besides," Cooper added, "Dad can't use that on a mission, silly."

Clint nestled his quiver comfortably on his back. "You never know. Bet you Auntie Nat could find a way to use it." It was a ridiculous mental image – not to mention impractical – but sometimes it was the bizarrest things that saved lives.

"Just show us the moves you do on missions, Dad."

Clint stretched his bow arm out toward the ten-yard target. "What, you mean like this?" With practiced speed, he slid an arrow from the quiver, drew, and shot, never once dropping eye contact with his son.

Cooper gaped at the target. "How do you _do_ that?"

Clint appraised his work. It wasn't a bull's-eye – he could only ever fluke it with a shot like that – but these kinds of stunts were reserved for those times his eyes were needed elsewhere and he was certain of doing damage within a wide enough margin. "Lots and lots of practice."

"Do you look out the corner of your eye?"

"No, I – whoops, sorry!" Clint had taken a step back right into Lila. In his attempt to keep from putting all his weight on her foot, he stumbled and nearly hit her head with his bow before he could push her forward. Satisfied that she was mostly out of his way, he leaned his failing balance into a backwards somersault, from which he sprang up to shoot at the twenty-yard target. This delighted Lila so much that she hopped and clapped her approval.

Clint entertained his kids with twenty-two arrows more, sometimes leaping up to loose them mid-air or after he'd landed in some spectacular fashion, other times shooting while ducking around imaginary opponents. He embedded arrows into the three hay bales, each set ten yards apart.

"Again, Daddy?" Lila asked.

Clint consulted his watch. "I think it's lunchtime. You guys hungry?"

All three of them retrieved Clint's arrows and hung their gear in the barn, where the dog rejoined them. Clint tossed his grease rag onto the worktable and made a mental note to deal with the scattered tractor parts later. Just as Clint secured the barn doors shut, his stomach let off a bubbly growl that sent Lila into a fit of giggles. "Daddy!" she exclaimed, as though to scold him. Then her arms shot out and her fingers wriggled over his midsection.

Clint forced her to retreat by tickling her neck. "I can't help it if my tummy rumbles." Another set of fingers danced over his ribs. "Not you too, Coop!" Clint swung an arm back to catch his son, but Cooper ducked under it and grabbed Lila's hand, sparing Clint a mischievous grin as he did so.

"Run, Lila!"

"Oh-ho, no you don't!" Clint trotted after them, reaching out now and then to get a few tickles in before allowing them to escape again. Macie bounded alongside, barking to punctuate the kids' squeals and laughter. Cooper and Lila pounded up the porch steps, through the squeaking screen door, and – from what Clint deduced by the sounds of their footsteps – into the main floor bathroom. "Might as well wash your hands while you're in there!" he called after them. Macie stopped circling his legs to receive a rub on the head before she settled under the porch to pant in the shade.

Clint entered the house himself and was able to take a cursory look at their lunch options before Cooper and Lila joined him in the kitchen. "So we have some leftovers from last night's supper –" he started.

Cooper interrupted. "Mom said it was enough for tonight, so she's not gonna cook."

"Okay. I could make sandwiches –"

"Grilled cheese!" Lila cheered.

"We don't have any more bread," Cooper said. "Mom had the last two pieces for breakfast."

 _She did?_ Clint didn't remember smelling toast. He didn't even remember what _he_ ate, he'd been so out of it. It struck him that he didn't feel anywhere near as tired now as he had then.

"Aww. Then how about nachos?"

"Nachos aren't a lunch food unless they're loaded," Clint objected.

"Sure they are!" Lila planted her hands on her hips as if that was the winning argument, but then she frowned. "What's 'loaded'?"

"That's when they're covered with meat, tomatoes, peppers, olives –"

"Regular nachos are lunch too!"

"If you're going to have chips for lunch, you need more than just cheese to go with them."

Cooper squirmed under Clint's arm to reach for something wrapped in foil. "We still have hot dogs?"

"No buns." At least Clint remembered _that_ : it always annoyed Laura that there were never the same number of buns in a bag as hot dogs in a package, and the Barton family wasn't big enough to justify buying the amount of each required to reach that happy, balanced number. Clint didn't really care, since leftovers of either were fine with him, but it drove Laura nuts every time. "No buns, bu-u-ut…." Clint took the weiners from Cooper and opened a cupboard. _Bingo_. He pulled out two boxes of macaroni and cheese. "I could cut the hot dogs into KD."

The kids agreed – Cooper because he'd get his hot dog and Lila because mac and cheese would be the closest she'd get to nachos – and Clint smiled at the success of his lunch menu negotiations. He let Lila wear her heart-print apron to stir the macaroni and asked Cooper to demonstrate his skill with the apple slicer. He himself cut carrot sticks to dip in ranch dressing. Then he took over the macaroni while Lila fetched the condiments and Cooper set the table.

It was one of the merriest meals in their recent history. The constantly changing topics made for lively conversation – Clint wasn't exactly sure how they went from talking about excessive amounts of ketchup to laughing over funny animal stories, but it was all a good time. He even gave in to his kids' request to show off his marksmanship by tossing carrot sticks into their mouths, since Laura was absent, but he didn't indulge them long before he deemed it time to clean up. He assigned himself to the dishes. Cooper wiped down the table and spooned the leftover macaroni onto a clean plate for Laura, for whenever she came home. Lila transferred the apple slices and carrot sticks to a container, and left it by the plate of macaroni.

"Can we play a game, Daddy?" Lila asked.

"What game?"

Lila shrugged. "Something fun."

Her upturned face was lit up with a smile and her dark brown eyes were hopeful. Clint tapped her button nose with a sudsy finger and said, "Figure out what you want to play while I finish up."

He saw Lila turn to look at Cooper, but they didn't discuss their options like he expected them to. Maybe Cooper didn't realize that his sister was looking at him, for he remained silent at the table. Lila took to swinging her arms in an arc while she waited. Clint was just drying the last of the cutlery when he prompted, "So what are we play– hey!" He swung his knee backwards, out of Lila's grasp. That movement angled his front toward her and she reached for his belly and made contact.

"Tickle fight!" came her battle-cry.

Clint dropped the towel next to the dishes. His hands swooped deftly down to her exposed armpits and began to counterattack. "You want a tickle fight?" he challenged. "I'll show you a tickle fight!"

Lila dropped to the floor in a poor attempt at escape. Clint bent down to maintain his advantage, but no sooner had he done so than Cooper flung himself across Clint's back and targeted his ribs. Clint turned his attention to the new threat, permitting Lila to roll safely away. "You want some of this too?" he asked Cooper. Hooking an arm around his son's waist, he hoisted him off the ground and let him swing freely.

"Whoa!" was all Cooper could get out before Clint swept his drumming fingers over his legs. Cooper squirmed valiantly, but only succeeded in pivoting himself so that he hung nearly upside down.

Clint teased him. "Hey, thanks; this is much better!"

"Not on the feet!" Cooper begged. "Not – Dad, sto-ho-ho-op!" Kicking his way free proved futile, so he took advantage of his position and aimed for Clint's ankles. Clint couldn't even jerk his own feet up for fear of kicking Cooper, so he lowered his son's legs to the floor to allow him to stand on his own.

Not a moment too soon, for Lila was coming at him again. She had just managed to brush against his neck before he reached for her shoulder blades. She arched her back for a second, then took off running for the living room.

"Nowhere to run!" Clint taunted. She threw herself into the corner of a couch and he pounced beside her. "You just trapped yourself and now I've _got you_!" She shrieked and tried to block his hands, but there were always new openings that Clint could exploit. She convulsed with desperate movements to ward him off.

Cooper vaulted onto the couch and wormed his fingers over Clint's neck. "What is _with_ you and attacking from behind?" Clint complained good-naturedly. He removed one hand from the tickling of Lila and re-assigned it to Cooper, eliciting peals of laughter from both simultaneously. His right hand was soon trapped in Cooper's fetal position, but his fingers still had enough freedom for effective movement. His left hand was being lifted – slowly and with much struggling on Lila's part – by the ring and pinky fingers, but his strength prevailed and forced Lila to defend herself again.

Her defence was perhaps more violent than she intended, for one of her flailing legs shot out and kicked him in the gut. Such a blow from so young a girl was too little to hurt much, but it caught him by surprise and he instinctively leaned forward to cradle his midsection. Then, whether Cooper had planned to wait for such a moment or not, he rolled off the couch, dragging Clint's hand – and consequently, the rest of Clint – with him. Flat on his back, Clint found himself doggie-piled by two kids eager to exact their revenge.

" _What_ are you guys doing?"

Clint raised his head and the kids likewise whirled around. There was Laura, loaded with bags of groceries, her eyebrows raised in a measure of bewilderment and her lips set in a definite smirk. Clint propped himself up with his elbows. "Laura! Hi."

"We're playing," Cooper said.

Lila expanded on that. "We're having a tickle-fight."

"Oh?" Laura laid the grocery bags on the counter and slid her arm out from the handles. "And who's winning?"

"We are!" Lila pointed to herself and Cooper.

"No, you're not," Clint argued. "I had both of you on the couch."

Cooper looked down at Clint, his eyes promising certain doom. "But we're not on the couch anymore."

Clint cocked his head. "What? You think I can't take you down here?"

"Not if Mom helps us."

"Uh-uh! Not cool!"

"Yeah, help us, Mom!" Lila implored. "Help us tickle Dad!"

Clint wagged a finger. "You know that's not a fair fight."

"You're a secret agent, so you're fine," Cooper said. His hand shot forward, but Clint blocked the attack.

Laura halted the escalation of their actions with a light-hearted interjection. " _I_ think that your dad needs a break and a chance to relax, not pick fights with you guys." She joined them on the living room floor and Cooper scooted over so she could sit in his spot. "He saved the world. He should be able to enjoy it in peace."

Her brown eyes were soft and shining, saying so much more than her words did, conveying her understanding of needs he'd hardly dared breathe to her, assuring him of her concern and support, and even indicating her recognition of the progress he'd made in healing. It amazed Clint to learn afresh of his wife's wordless eloquence. Being less gifted in the arts of expression himself, he smiled and laid a hand on hers. She smiled back, stroked his face, and kissed him.

"Aw, seriously?" Cooper completed his protest with a series of disgusted vocalizations. Lila advised him to look away if he didn't want to see.

Clint didn't care. He would have liked to hold that kiss longer, kids or no, but Laura pulled back just enough to end it. She slid a hand up Clint's arm to rest on his shoulder and smiled. "You know, for such an experienced secret agent, you're really easy to break."

"Wait, wha–" Too late, he realized that Laura's hand had slipped from his shoulder and under his arm. He pinned his arm to his side, but to no real effect, so he wrestled her hand away. Laura only responded by tickling his neck with her free hand. "Come on!"

"Yeah! Get him, Mom!" Cooper hollered.

Lila clapped. "Everybody tickle Dad!"

Clint knew he had very little time before he'd be dealing with all three. As it was, Cooper was already tugging off his socks. "No! You can't take me!" he cried while he scrambled back. His shoulder bumped against the couch and he curled up as much as possible. It would prove a good defence against his kids, especially since he wouldn't be able to tickle them in turn, not with Laura there to dare him to open up. As for defences against Laura, there were none. She was an expert at finding the cracks in his blockades, and trying to tickle _her_ was an exercise in futility. His only other option would be to utilize his training, but this was his family, so that was very much out of the question.

By the time Clint realized that Laura had formed a strategy, discussion was over and he missed their plans. All three descended upon him, fingers poised, eyes dancing with the fun of the game. Clint found himself smiling in the face of his impending doom. "Not fair, not fair!"

He closed his eyes to brace himself.

Gone were the bleak images of nightmare. The noise and terror of battle dissipated into the joy and innocence of children at play. The tension of two months melted into healing peace. His mind's eye replayed new images – Cooper's impish grin, Lila's doe eyes, Laura's gentle expression of all the words she need not say – till even that devilish smile that had taunted him for so long was thrust out in the cold of forgetfulness by the warm embrace of the ones Clint loved most.

He was home. His family was happy. He could ask for nothing more.

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